


The Odd Batch

by MotherOftheUniverse



Series: Star Falls [1]
Category: Gravity Falls, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Clone Trooper Dan Corduroy, Clone Wars, Dan is a Clone, Episode: s04e07 Darkness on Umbara, Ford Pines Has Issues, Ford Pines is a Jerk, Galactic Republic, Gen, General Krell is a Jerk, Jedi, Jedi Ford Pines, Jedi Stan Pines, Kamino, Lightsaber Battles, Mace Windu is done with everyones shit, Nal Hutta, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stan Pines Angst, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, Stan Pines is a Good Brother, Stan Pines is a Good Leader, Stan Pines-centric, Stangst, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) Spoilers, Umbara (Star Wars), Umbara battle, Weequay (Star Wars), Weequay Stan Pines, Zygerria
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22860055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherOftheUniverse/pseuds/MotherOftheUniverse
Summary: The Gravity Falls and Star Wars crossover nobody asked for!Stanley and Stanford Pines are Jedi Masters. One is a General, leading his own Clone army, and defending the Galactic Republic on the battle grounds, and the other has a seat on the High Council, and mostly takes on solo missions. One says "screw Jedi code", and allows himself to care deeply for his troops, his former apprentice, and his friends. The other tries so hard not to care he's convinced himself he's incapable of it. One of them wishes they talked more, but is too afraid to try. The other wishes they didn't talk at all. They may have been twins, but they are no longer brothers.Then Dipper and Mabel enter the equation; a set of clones who grew in the same embryo. An odd batch; the first force-sensitive clones ever, along with other strange mutations and behaviors. One becomes Stanford's padawan. The other becomes Stanley's.Now, for the sake of their padawans, the two must learn to be brothers again. However difficult that might be.
Relationships: "Manly" Dan Corduroy & Stan Pines, Bill Cipher & Ford Pines, Dipper Pines & Ford Pines, Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Stan Pines, Mabel Pines & Stan Pines
Series: Star Falls [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644244
Comments: 24
Kudos: 25
Collections: Gravity Falls, Grunkle Stan is the Man





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [detectivejigsaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/gifts).



> This work is dedicated to my favorite author, detectivejigsaw. Idk how much you know about Star Wars, but I love your Gravity Falls works, and feel honored whenever I see you comment on my fics.

_Wars do not make one great_

* * *

“No. Absolutely not,” 

Mace Windu let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. “We need someone like you for this mission, and General Krell happens to be the only person available to take over,” 

“Then call in someone else. I’m not the only Jedi who uses weird tactics,” 

The old Weequay Jedi crossed his arms, stubbornly staring at Windu from the other side of the hologram, daring him to _try_ and call him away from his troops. Windu, on the other hand, let’s out a tired sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, fighting the incoming headache that was practically guaranteed to come when trying to get Stanley Pines to do anything. 

It wasn’t like the man was difficult to work with; he was a good leader, in charge of the 904th Clone Trooper squadron, and had the respect, friendship, and admiration of the entire troop. He was good at working with others; it was sometimes fun to be around the charismatic man, even if you had to be constantly watching your wallet, for fear he’d pick-pocket you. However, Stanley was stubborn; once he made a decision, it was a hell of a time to convince him otherwise. And frankly, Windu was too tired to deal with any of Stanley’s shit. 

The siege on Umbara hadn’t quite gone as planned. The Jedi _knew_ that a planetary takeover wouldn’t be easy, but they hadn’t planned on it lasting so long. It’d been weeks, and they were still struggling to nab the planet. Every available Jedi general had been called to help out; Windu was no exception. But they needed a Jedi with chaotic tendencies to help them elsewhere, and if they couldn’t convince Stanley to take the mission, they’d have no choice but to rely on Skywalker. 

Stanley was chaotic, but not only was Skywalker chaotic, he was _also_ impulsive, not to mention less experienced due to age. It was obvious who the bigger headache would be. Or, at least Windu had thought. 

But the moment he mentioned General Krell's name, Stanley had suddenly become the bigger headache. 

Might as well try. “I know that Krell uses tactics you do not approve of, but—” 

“No way am I letting that asshole near any of my men. I only got 106 of ‘em left, after this suicide mission,” He says, referring to the Umbaran siege in general. “I _don’t_ particularly want to lose any more of ‘em if I don't have to,” 

Not a lot of people _liked_ to have their men under Krell, which was understandable. His casualty average was higher than any other Jedi’s. He saw clones as numbers; didn’t particularly care about losses, as long as victory was achieved. 

Technically, Jedi weren’t supposed to care about the losses of clones. It was the purpose of a clone to fight and maybe die on a battlefield, and Jedi were not supposed to form attachments; especially to soldiers who were _made_ to be disposable. Technically, Krell wasn’t really doing anything wrong. 

Didn’t mean they had to like him, or his ways. 

“We’re in a war, Pines, losses are to be expected,” Windu tried to reason. 

“Not like that, they’re not,” Stan snapped. “I happen to _value_ the life of my men, thank you very much,” Windu opened his mouth to make an argument, but Stan beat him to it. “And don’t go on with me about that _Jedi Code_ shit _,_ you can’t say squat to me about attachments, not when you _pamper_ your men when they end up in the hospital,” 

“I wasn’t going to say anything about the code,” Windu breathed out through gritted teeth. He wasn’t sure why he was even trying at this point. “What I _was_ going to say is that we’ll send in someone else. Krell will be in charge of a different squadron,” 

“We _could_ just boot Krell out of the Order,” Stan casually suggested. 

“Goodbye, Pines,” Windu snapped, before shutting off the hologram, ending the message. 

Looks like they’d be stuck with Skywalker. 

And the 501st would be stuck with Krell. 

He’d never tell anyone, but Windu was seriously contemplating Stan’s idea. 

* * *

Umbara was a messy planet, where every piece of nature is trying to kill you. Not only that, but the Umbaran soldiers were tough as nails, and seemed to come in droves. Stan’s already small squadron of clones had been shaven down quarters. The planet was a death trap. 

The siege was necessary, of course; claiming Umbara; a strong presence in the Separatist domain, would aid the Republic and get everyone at least a good step closer to ending the bloody war, but that didn’t mean that Stan had to like this mission. 

There was an old Weequay saying that was (probably incorrectly) translated by the pirates of Florum, that went along the lines of “Giving up is more good. Choose death if your a pussy,” The phrase was crude, and would definitely have a certain someone Stanley knew balking at the poor grammar, but that wasn’t the point. 

The point was, at this point, the republic should probably just forget about this whole Umbara fiasco rather than lose more people. Sure, there was the whole “if we give up now my soldiers died for nothing” complex, but at this point, he kinda valued the life of his troupes more than pride or honor or any of that shit. 

The Weequay sighed, pocketing his communications device and getting up. There had been a lull in the battlefield, allowing what was left of his men to have a break, but it was now time to press on, whether they wanted to or not. 

“Alright, break times over,” He shouted to his troops. “Time to gear up and head out,” 

“Sir, what is our current objective?” One of them asked.

“Shoot the guys we don’t like in the face?” He suggested. Honestly, at this point, the plan was lost on him. Stan hated this mission with a bitter passion, and just wanted it to be over with. They were supposed to either take over and/or destroy some outpost, then, once they got the signal from the 501st, _and_ the space blockade was finally breached by Kenobi and Windu’s efforts, they’d make for a march on the capital. Right now, the act of even _getting_ the damn outpost was proving to be a fucking struggle. 

It was just over the hill. A hill filled with dangerous plants, guarded by _way_ too many Umbaran walkers, not to mention once they got over the hill, they’d have to invade the base itself. All that with only 106 men left. 

Stan lets out a sigh. There had to be another way. He had checked the schematics of the outpost over and over again. They couldn’t go over the wall; it was ray-shielded. There was only one entrance. The hill was the best path, since it had the least amount of natural killing things laid out on it, and the last time he’d tried going down the “nature kills you” path, he lost a lot of men. Their only option was to push forwards. 

He cleared his throat. “Alright, I want anyone who can use a machine gun at the front. Shoot to your heart's desire. Only use your bombs on the walkers. If you can use a machine gun, partner up with anyone who can’t; they’ll hold your shields. Watch eachother's backs. Stay low to the ground, try not to step on anything that remotely looks like a mouth or a tentacle, unless you think you can trick the enemy into getting eaten by a plant monster instead. Try to find cover whenever you can. Stay alert, and if you have to choose between advancing forwards, or saving the life of your bros, always choose your bros. Tick, Match, Beetle, you three are on sniper duty. Let’s go!” 

And off into battle they went. Stanley did his best to run alongside his front line, though he was slower than they were, unfortunately. No matter; they had their shield buddies. That should be enough cover for now. 

His Captain, “Manly” Dan, ran right alongside him. The man was bigger than many of the other clones, though he wasn’t different enough from his brothers to be one of the 99th battalion. Stan was grateful for that; he liked his captain. The man was a good leader, and did him the favor of _not_ constantly calling him out on his lack of following parodical, unlike some _other_ people he knew. Though, he suspected that was mostly because Stan had let Dan grow a long, scraggly beard, which the captain had dyed red. 

He whipped his lightsaber off of it’s belt, the familiar golden, curve-hilted rod taking comfort in his hand. He turned it on, the blue blade extending from it’s port, glowing softly. His soldiers charged, blasting their machine guns at the upcoming army. They had the slight advantage of surprise, as it seemed the Umbaran's hadn’t expected them at this point of time (they may have suspected them an hour later, so it wasn’t a _big_ surprise, but he’d take any advantage at this point). 

The black dust kicked off his shoes as they made their way past glowing trees and tall blue grass. The machine guns managed to shave off a decent amount of foot soldiers, but the moment they came across the walkers they started having trouble. 

Saving the bombs had been a good call. Unfortunately, it took about three or four bombs to blow up one of their unnecessarily sturdy contraptions, so they ran out of the explosives pretty quickly. He had given the three clones on sniper duty rockets to use for the tanks, which did prove useful in at least weakening the Umbaran war machines, though it still took _way_ too much explosion power to take down a walker, and there were way too many walkers. 

The shield buddies had kept his men safe from bullets, but the cannon blast of the enemies bigger machinery wasn’t doing them any good. Explosions would hit the ground, sending the surrounding men flying off, while black dirt was kicked up in everyone’s faces. The walkers spider legs kept it balanced in the loosening ground, and too often a clone would be unfortunate enough to get hit with either a blast of the cannon, or get stepped on by the machine, leaving them either evaporated where he stood, or crushed into a mangled, bloodied mess. 

Even so, they were pushing through. A tank would be blown up. Stan would reach one and cut the thing down with his lightsaber. His men were using their own creative and unconventional methods of taking the enemy down, and it was working. They could make it past this wave. They made it past every wave before on this damned mission. 

And they can say all the lost lives were worth it once the Republic took claim of Umbara. Well, he couldn’t say this stupid planet was worth the many members of his squad that where lost, that he was still loosing even now, but he could lie to himself. The Republic lied to themselves all the time, why not join in the party? 

Besides, he was good at lying. According to most other Weequay he met, it was an inbred talent of his species; a gift given to the first of their kind from Gods, or something like that. Personally, Stan thought that all that talk meant jack shit, but it was nice to think he wasn’t the only liar in the family. 

That may be why his brother was ashamed to be a Weequay. 

The last tank was finally taken down by the combined efforts of Stanley and Captain Dan. He had used his lightsaber to burst a hole through the weird ray-shield thing that the Umbaran's used to cover their pilots instead of the standard glass that the rest of the galaxy used, and stabbed the driver. Meanwhile, Dan had gone up to the gun itself, shot bullets down the cannon, and blew it up from the inside. The gunner had jumped out, preparing to take on the army himself, but Dan just shot him once it was made clear the man had no intentions of surrendering. 

The men regrouped. There seemed to be a noticeable subtraction of clones from before their battle, though Stanley didn’t bother to count. The mission isn't over yet. They had claimed the hill, but now they needed to claim the outpost. 

It wasn’t a particularly big outpost; just a wall and one command tower, with about six space ships parked in between. The problem was that the base was ray shielded with only one point of entrance, and the clones were fresh out of explosives. 

Stan took a second to think. They couldn’t play prisoner; the Umbaran’s didn't really take prisoners, unless they were common folk who were neither soldier nor Jedi. There was no going around the building at all. Rushing in head-first seemed kinda stupid at the moment. But they could draw the enemy out… 

“Tick, Match, Beetle, you still got your riffles?” He asked into his com-link. The message would play in each troopers helmet, so there was no need to find them and ask personally. 

“Sorry sir, we lost Beetle. It’s just Match and I,” Tick replies. 

Stan bit his lip. So Beetle was gone. Death always seemed more real when you attach a name to it. But he can’t dwell on the loss of another trooper right now. He has to focus on the impersonal thoughts, such as how he was down a sniper. 

“Ok. Tumble?” He asked for another clone. “Do you think you can replace Beetle on sniper duty?” 

“Got it, sir,” Tumble replies obediently, shifting his rifle into the best module for sniper work, and heading into the trees along with Tick and Match. 

Dan bent down alongside Stan, looking at the fortress they had to invade. “What’s the plan, General?” He asks. 

Stan turns on his communicator once again. “Ok, what we’re going to do is pick them off one by one. Once they call for reinforcements, the doors will be opened. Then, we’ll rush ‘em with the machine guns. I want around eight heavy’s in a V-pattern. I’ll lead. Once we get past the door, I'll be able to cut down the ray shields. Then, Dan will lead about half the troops around the back, and attack them from behind,” He then turned to his explosives expert, who was crouching right beside Dan. “Axel, do you think you can figure out how to use the Umbaran’s explosives?” He asks. 

“I bet ya ten credits I can figure it out within two minutes!” He cheered in confirmation. 

“You’re on!” Stan accepted the challenge. He loved making bets with his troops. The betting always boosted morale within the squadron, and confidence served wonders on the battlefield, meaning more victories, and a lower death count. It also lined his pocket whenever they were wrong, which was a plus. 

“Everyone ready?” 

“Yes sir!” 

“Go,” 

* * *

The moment the doors open, Stanley makes a run for it, twirling his lightsaber around, cutting down every soldier in front of him. The machine gunners behind him to a stellar job picking enemies off, and he gets through the door without much problem. 

The clones follow him as he runs towards the wall where one of the four shield producers sit, shooting all around them, clearing an area for them to work with. They made sure no enemy got close. 

One of them screamed, then made a choking sound that resembled death. He heard one of his men shout out “Soggs!”, and he knows that Soggs has been shot, and he can only hope the man isn’t dead. But he doesn’t look back at his fallen trooper. There’d be time for that later. 

Up he jumps onto the wall, and with one slashing motion from his bright blue blade, the first shield generator was out of commission. 

“Cover me!” He shouts to the men below him, running across the wall, to the next generator. 

He hears a lot of blasting, and he’s sure that at least one more person has died. He can also hear the familiar hum of ship engines starting up, and he knows the Umbaran's flying their battleships and getting ready to slaughter them. 

He cuts down the second shield generator. 

“We need reinforcements!” He hears one of his clones call from the com-link. Anyone who wasn’t part of the squad sneaking around the back rushed into the building, aiding their brothers the best they could. 

They couldn’t help cover Stanley anymore; they had to worry about the ships firing cannons at them. There was a lot of screaming. That meant a lot of dying. 

The third was cut. 

By the time he gets to the fourth shield generator, there are hardly any clones left. 

The back enforcements join in while Stan jumps into battle, aiding his troupers the best he can. Axel makes his way over to the explosive shells that the Umbaran's had as extra ammo, and starts to do his work. 

It takes him five minutes to work the bombs, which means Stan won the bet. 

The moment the bombs are working, Stan lifts them up using the force, and throws them into each of the ships. The ships explode, and are completely done for. 

The moment the ships are out of the equation, the leftover troops rush the main tower, eliminating the enemy as they went. Even the impressive shield work of Umbaran technology wasn’t any match for a lightsaber. 

Taking over the tower was relatively easy compared to everything else they’d done so far. 

He finally reaches the top, and Dan picks off the people working up there. Stan heads to the control center council, and opens up the data schematics. The first thing he does is send out a message to the other squadrons of the republic. 

Their mission had been completed.

* * *

While Stan was working on decrypting Umbaran code, and sending the necessary signals to the Republic (Standard protocol shit), the clones got to the strenuous process that was cleanup duty. They cleared the debris, rounded up the dead bodies, and counted their remaining numbers. They collected supplies, found a good place to put the corpses that wouldn’t bring diseases onto them, and placed different clones on different shifts. Then, Dan went to the top of the operations tower to tell him how many they lost. 

“Only twenty left?” Stan stared at Dan with his mouth agape. “You're joking, right?! Please tell me you’re joking!” How had he lost so many men? He may as well not even call his small collection of leftovers a squadron at this point. How had so many of them died? Was there anything he could’ve done differently? It didn’t matter now, of course. Whatever he could’ve done, he obviously didn’t do. But he had started this siege on Umbara with a proper amount of men (around 408) a little over three weeks ago. Now he’d lost all but 20. 

He found the nearest item he could sit on, and collapsed down onto it. 

Dan sat down next to him, putting a rough hand on his general’s shoulder. The red-bearded clone couldn’t do much else. 

He liked Stan; he liked any Jedi that valued the life of him and his brethren. But he also knew how hard Jedi like him would take it when they lost as many people as they just did. He agreed fully with Stan; the entire battle on Umbara was practically a suicide mission. A necessary one, unfortunately, considering the planet’s influence within Separatist ranks, but a suicide mission non-the-less. 

Stan rested his hand in his head. They’d suffered losses before; the 904th did, but not like this. He hated this planet, hated this mission, and hated this war. So many lives being made just to die. What the hell kind of fucked-up situation was that? 

“Call in a team meeting,” He demanded.

* * *

All twenty leftover men gathered in the room that sort of resembled a dining hall, per request of Captain Dan. Their general entered the room soon after, trying a little too hard to look like he wasn’t bothered by their losses. Jedi weren’t supposed to dwell on these things too much anyways. 

His heart breaks the moment he sees the small batch of soldiers. This was what was left of the battalion he’d cared for for two years. Hundreds of battles; hundreds of times all the clones got drunk on their ship to celebrate a victory. Hundreds of times he comforted a soldier, telling him that it was ok he survived, even if his brother didn’t. Hundreds of times they had simply proven to be good friends. 

And he had lost all but twenty of them. 

“Uh,” He stammered. “W-where’s Axel?” He tried to keep his tone casual. Calm and collected. “H-he owes me money,” 

The clones looked amongst themselves. They didn’t need to say it, but they did anyway. “Axel didn’t make it,” Said Tick. 

Stan took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He then grabbed at the nearest table, and flipped it over, letting out a scream of rage. He steadies himself. Jedi did not get angry. Jedi did not cry. They buried their emotions deep inside of them if they had any at all. His first Master had drilled _that_ into his head over and over. It had been years since that man had been expelled from the Jedi council, but the lessons beaten into his head at a young age still remained. His _brother_ had somehow kept the lessons in mind. Why couldn’t he?

He had made that bet with Axel a little over an hour ago. A little over an hour ago, Axel had been alive and well; and in good enough spirits to make a bet with his general. A little over two hours ago, he had 106 men at his side. Three weeks ago, he had all 408 men marching alongside him. 

“Dammit,” He quietly said to himself. “This has all gone to shit,” 

Stan wiped at his eyes, even though he hadn’t been crying (it was a difficult process to train himself not to, but it was something demanded of him ever since he was 10. He’d had long enough to teach himself), and then faced his men. He took a deep breath. “Take off your helmets; I wanna see who survived,” 

Tick was the only one of the men he’d put on sniper duty who made it. He briefly wondered if Tumble would’ve survived had he not been asked to replace Beetle, but thought better of it. All eight people who had charged the front door with him were also gone. Soogs hadn't survived getting shot, like Stan had hoped. It was reported that, while the charge up the hill had thinned out most of the troops, the event that took most of the lives was getting shot at by the Umbaran space ships. Those things did pack a great punch. This means he’d taken too long to disable the shields, and then he’d taken too long to throw the bombs at the ships. 

His self-esteem issues were resurfacing again. Hadn’t he gotten over those? But now, all the things he’d been called during some of the worst years of his life were swirling around his head again. _Useless_ . _Selfish. Screw-up. Stupid._

Some of the other less pleasant words came up, but they didn’t have much to do with the situation at hand. 

“Dammit, I might has well have let General Krell take over with how many I lost,” He snaps at himself. 

“If General Krell had been leading us, there’d be nobody left,” One of his men; Snickers; his smoking buddy, told him. At least _he_ was alive. After this was over, he’d invite Snickers to share a smoke, and the two could get high on the roof of the clone bar in Coruscant like old times. Not exactly Jedi-like behavior, but fuck that. No Jedi would be around to see them, and it’s not like the clones ratted out the few space wizards who were willing to have a good time with them. The only Jedi who frequented the clone bars anyways was a Padawan Togurta named Wendy, and the crazy old man who’d once been his brothers friend before, well, _everything_. 

He found himself wishing that his old Padawan was at his side again. The boy had just recently become a Jedi Knight, and was out doing his own things, because that’s what graduated Padawan's were supposed to do. But he imagined if Soos had been by his side, he’d at least feel a little more emotionally stable in this fight. 

Or Soos might have been killed with the rest of the majority of his squad. If that happened, he’d probably just go die or something. 

“Alright, we’ll be waiting here until we get the all clear from everyone else. Then we can move into the capital. Until then, our most important mission is survival. Nobody leaves this base unless they absolutely have to. Find a buddy, and stay with them at all times. The moment anyone goes missing, alert me immediately,” 

“Sir, yes, sir!” 

“Ok,” Stanley nodded. “Friz, Karl, Pete, and Jerry. Grab a partner, and start repairing those ray-shields. We’ve worked too hard to claim this outpost. No way in hell are we gonna lose it. Rattle, you figure out shifts for guard duty. Snicker and Grubb are on weapons duty. Tez, Tick, your with Dan and I. You guys need to start decrypting the technology, and I need to give a status update to the guys in space. Got it? Now go!” 

Everyone left to fulfill their duties. Tez, Tick, and Dan followed him to the elevator, where he once again settled into one of the seats, starting to operate the computers. He sent a call request signal through the Umbaran’s holo-communicators, and got a response almost right away. 

However, the Jedi who happened to have answered his call was one of the last people he wanted to see. 

The small cubes in the holo-display formed into the image of another Weequay who shared his face, and dressed proper-looking but likely unwashed Jedi robes. It was traditional for their kind to grow out their few bits of hair into beautifully styled braids, with an accessory woven between to represent whichever new planet they’ve been to (Stan had already added some torn up cloth from an Umbaran's uniform to his own braid to represent this hell of a planet, mostly for traditions sake, even if he really wanted to forget he’d even set foot on Umbara in the first place), but the Weequay man in front of him had cut off his braids, keeping his small amount of hair short. They’re skin was the same color, and they had wrinkles in the same place. The calluses that naturally grew into a Weequay's skin had developed the exact same patterns for the two of them. They both whore prescription goggles for their bad eyesight. The only thing that could tell them apart in appearance was the way they dressed, the difference in posture (and in gut size), and the fact that the man in the hologram held six fingers on each hand, instead of the usual five. 

Stanford Pines, Stan’s twin brother. Or, at least they _were_ brothers. Stan still considered _him_ a brother, even if his twin didn’t exactly return the favor. 

He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with Stanford's shit right now. 

“Stanley,” Ford greeted coldly, looking at his brother in annoyance. “I heard you refused Master Windu’s mission,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Stan snapped. “I got the damn outpost y’all wanted so badly, and I lost the majority of my squad doing so. Whoever decided this mission was a good idea can go fuck himself,” 

“We were commanded to lead a siege on Umbara by the Chancellor himself—” Ford starts to berate his brother through gritted teeth. They’d been at odds for thirty years. They’d given up on showing each other any form of common courtesy at this point, it seemed. 

“Yeah, and the Chancellor can go fuck himself,” Stanley interrupts, flicking the bird for extra effect. 

“You have no sense of respect for others, do you?” 

“I don’t respect pompous assholes who sit in offices while _my men_ and their _brothers_ are forced to go die on some fucking middle of nowhere planet,” 

“Language, Stanley,” 

“Go fuck yourself, and your language, Ford!” Stan was aware that Dan, Tick and Tez were watching him argue with his brother. Nothing they hadn’t seen before. But between Stan’s ridiculously short temper, and Ford’s unending knowledge in assholery, their arguments were always quite a show. “I had 406 men at the start of this goddamn siege, and now I’ve got twenty! Fucking _twenty!_ And you're telling me to show respect to the prick that’s responsible for my squad ending up here?” 

“They’re _clones_ , Stanley. They’re doing their _job_ . You shouldn’t be so _attached,_ ” 

The amount of Jedi who have told him that was way too high a number. The amount of times Ford had told him that was uncountable. The two of them had gotten into so many fights over such matters. 

“If you get on my back about attachments _one more goddamn time_ , I swear to god, I will stab you in the face!” Stan takes a deep breath. He was on edge right now, and Ford being the one to answer his call didn’t help. “You know what? Whatever. I don’t care. Just tell Windu or Kenobi or someone that my part of the job is over, and then go on your merry fucking way,” 

“Yes, I will make sure to do that. Though, while you are here, I may as well inform you of your next mission,” Stanford continues, somehow managing to make the act of avoiding eye contact look condescending. “You and I where requested by Master Shaak Ti to come to Kamino the moment we can,” 

“Wait, both of us?” Stan questioned. 

“Yes, both of us, unfortunately enough,” Ford had grumbled the last part quietly, though Stan heard it. He was aware of Ford’s discontent whenever he had to be around his brother; he didn’t need the jerk to rub it in. And yet, here he was. 

“Right, wouldn’t want your _stupid brother_ helping you with a mission after all,” He snapped with a sneer. It was a blow to both himself, and Ford, but mostly himself. It seemed Ford was never bothered by how Stanley felt. He was never bothered by how _anyone_ felt. 

_“Jedi do not show their emotions,”_ The words of his first Master echo in his head. Why couldn’t that stupid voice just leave him alone?!

“Would you stop making everything about yourself!?” Ford snaps in response. Was that really the best comeback he could think of? The dick needed to up his game. “And you're not my _brother_ , Stanley,” He spits out the word like it was poison. “Not after what you did to me!” 

“Oh shut up!” He snaps. “I can go on and on about what _you_ did to _me_ , but do I? No, I don’t. Anyways, when I’m finally allowed to leave this godforsaken planet, where I’ve been slaving away for a war I don’t even wanna be apart in, while _you’re_ up in your ship being all comfy, I’ll go to Kamino with you, you jackass. Now I’ve got some work to do, so until then; FUCK. OFF!!” 

He slams his fist on the computer, shutting off the communication. 

This had been a _really_ bad day. 

“Sir, are you alright?” Dan ask him. 

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” He snaps back sarcastically. “Now get back to work. We got a lot more shit to do if we ever hope to leave this hellhole,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altwly, altwly, Mpzo Zapjrz. Pzu'a aoha doha nva fvb pu ayvbisl pu aol mpyza wshjl
> 
> And that was the crossover. Obviously, there will be multiple chapters, as well as multiple fics in the series.
> 
> For anyone who doesn't know much about Star Wars trivia, a Weequay is the same type of alien as Hondo and the other Pirates in Clone Wars and Rebels. I made Stanley a Weequay because the thought of him being the same species as pirates was too good to pass up. Manley Dan is Stan's clone captain because I like they're dynamic, and I needed a clone. It was only quickly mentioned, but Wendy is a Togurta because Togurta are badasses (Togurta are the same species as Asoka and Shaak Ti, for context).
> 
> If you haven't watched the Clone Wars, I recommend you do. It's an AMAZING show. It's on Disney+, but you can probably pirate it someplace if you don't have that. Whichever floats your boat.
> 
> Anyways, please!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disastrous fight on Umbara, Stan get's a break from the action as he travels to Kamino. Unfortunately, due to tensions with his brother, and his own dispositions, a Mental break isn't included in the package.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wee! New chapter. New chapter means new story, and new characters too! 
> 
> If you know zilch about Star Wars, you're going to be very confused while reading this. If you watched the movies but not clone wars, you will be less confused. If you've watched Clone Wars, you should be able to figure out what's going on. 
> 
> If you've watched Star Wars, but not Gravity Falls, I give you my condolences. This fic is centered around Gravity Falls characters, so you will have absolutely no idea what is happening. 
> 
> Also, a Shaak are those weird creatures on Naboo from the Attack of the Clones that kinda look like ticks. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Brothers aren’t simply close; they are knit together _

* * *

_ 38 Years Ago _

The crashed ship had been long since swallowed by the swamps of Nal Hutta, but Ford once again visited the site where his brother had disappeared a little over two years ago. There had to be some sort of a clue; an indication as to where his brother went. 

It had been two years since Stanley and his Master had gone missing. They’d found his masters remains, and assumed that Stan had shared the same fate. Even still, Ford refused to believe his brother was dead. 

He’d scoured the entire planet twice, and had visited many other of the planets the Hutt’s had connections with. From the slavery capital of Zygeria, to the remote deserts of Tatooine. If the hutts had somehow captured his brother, he was sure he’d find traces of Stanley's presence somewhere. 

But every potential lead he took turned up dry. Every planet he visited; every criminal he talked to; and it yielded no results. It seemed very likely that, like his master, Stanley hadn’t survived the crash. 

_ “I know it hurts, Ford. But for the sake of your own health, you need to let him go. Stanley would not want you to be in such a state,” _

His Master had told him this over and over. He was nearly a Jedi Knight; he should be better than this; hopelessly chasing a man who was likely dead. 

He sighed, and placed a trinket of his brothers; a little carved statue of a fish Stan had made when he was young, over the spot where his brother had died, and left, leaving the carving to be eaten by the swamp. 

It was time to move on.

* * *

Ford sat at the top of the Jedi temple, watching as the city bustled with life, as the sun set, turning the sky’s cloudy blue into a cherry pink. He held his brother’s lightsaber in his hands. He remembered fetching his Kyber crystal from the caves. His own crystal had been perched in a stalagmite right next to Stanleys, and the two had grabbed theirs at the same time. They had laughed about it, thinking that this was a sign that the two of them would be side-by-side forever. Stanley had been scared to become a Padawan; wondering if he and Ford would remain best friends, even if they wouldn’t be trained together anymore. Ford assured him that yes, having separate masters wouldn’t deter their friendship. They would be together forever. 

He’d been proud of the lightsaber he crafted. Each saber was different in it’s own way, but the gold color made it stand out, and the curved hilt added to the uniqueness of Stanley’s lightsaber. The other Jedi had always called his brother a “free spirit”, and Ford can remember, watching Stanley turn his very own lightsaber on for the first time, beaming proudly at the glowing blue blade, that he understood what they had meant. Stan was one of a kind. 

And he was gone. 

His master; Jheselbraum, entered the roof where Ford sat, and took a place next to him. Jedi didn’t really have parents, but through her, Ford had experienced what it was like to have a mother. She was caring, kind, and wise; everything a master should be. Similar to Stanley’s own Master, Caryn Romanoff, who had died in the ship crash that also took his brother. 

Everything Stan’s  _ first _ Master wasn’t. 

“Are you alright?” Jheselbraum asks him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

The young Weequay let out a sigh. “I know that, as Jedi, we are not supposed to form attachments. And yet, I can still feel the pain of what happened to my brother. It’s been three years, Master. I should be over this by now,” 

“Just because a Jedi is not to form attachments,” She says calmly. “Doesn’t mean we are not allowed to love. When I said you needed to let your brother go, I meant that you shouldn’t let his death continue to eat at you; you shouldn’t let his death cause you anger. But, you are allowed to mourn him,” 

The two sit in silence for a while. Ford continues to hold his brother’s lightsaber in his hands, running his fingers across every crevice of the beautiful contraption. It is taught that a lightsaber is your life. This was all that was left of Stanley’s life then. Ford decided he would keep it close. For his brother. 

“There are negotiations to be made on Rodia,” His Master eventually says. “I thought this would be the perfect opportunity for you to try to help with peacekeeping  _ without  _ me there to aid you,” 

“So, I’ll be taking on this mission alone?” Ford questions. 

“Not alone, no. Just without me,” She stands up, and gestures for him to follow. The two walk briskly down the halls of the Jedi temple, saying nothing, spare the offering of polite greetings to different Jedi who pass by. Eventually, Jheselbraum leads Ford into one of the many private rooms in the temple purposed for meditating. Standing inside the room is another man who Ford had never met before. 

He was a tall, plump, Dathomirian Zabrak, with yellow facial tattoos that almost seemed to form a brick-like pattern. The horns that grew out of his head were all tipped with gold, and he was dressed in what looked like a Senator robe, made of clashing colors and tacky fabrics. The Senator get-up confused Ford, since he spotted a black, cane-shaped lightsaber fastened to the Jedi’s belt. His smile was full of sharp teeth, though that would be expected of a Zabrak. To top off the eccentric look, the man also held a top hat in his hands, which he placed over his horned head the moment Jheselbraum opened the door. 

“Jhesse,” He greeted enthusiastically. “My old friend! How’s it been? We haven't talked in awhile. And is that your apprentice?” He says, wearing a look similar to how Ford assumed one would look at their best friends new child. “Ain’t he a handsome lad!” 

Jheselbraum holds a look on her face that Ford can’t quite decipher, but it’s gone as soon as it came. “Ford, this is a good friend of mine, and your partner for today’s mission,” 

The yellow Zabrak held out his hand for a shake. “I’m Jedi Master Bill Cipher, but you, kid? You can just call me Bill,”

* * *

_ Present Day _

The Umbaran siege had been a success, though the price had been the lives of thousands of clones. It had been a relief when Stan and his twenty leftover men were finally picked up and allowed to leave the godforsaken planet, where they could spend a decent amount of time resting and recovering on the grand cruisers. 

On the bright side, General Krell was dead; executed by the 501st after admitting to being a part of the Separatist Ranks. It was enough to bring a smug smile to his face; knowing that jerk wouldn’t be around to lead troops to their death anymore. 

But now he had another issue to worry about. The first being; he’d have to send in a request for more troops. 20 clones weren’t enough to be considered a squad, so the 904th would be getting some new members. Most likely shinnies, and maybe even younger clones. Or some extra members from other Jedi’s squads would be able to lend him their talents. 

The second issue was that he now had to go on an expedition to Kamino with his brother. Great…

Stan wasn’t particularly looking forward to this mission. He’d spent a month suffering devastating losses on Umbara, so he wasn’t in the best of moods, nor was his self-esteem at any good level. Ever since  _ that _ incident 30 years ago, any interaction he had with Ford had always left him angry, and feeling worse about himself. 

He didn’t get why Ford had to be an asshole. Sure, his brother had never been a social expert, but this was ridiculous. And it wasn’t just Stan feeling it at this point either. There was a reason why Ford  _ hadn’t _ been assigned a squad of clones under his name, and a reason he hadn’t been able to find an apprentice. 

Stan and Ford had spent 30 years being at each others throats. Ford loved to think he could outdo Stan in everything, (and in most cases he could), but even still, in those thirty years, Stan had been able to train one successful Jedi Knight, and was now on the list for a second Padawan, while Ford on the other hand would usually scare off his potential apprentices within a week. And any time Ford acted all high and mighty, Stan had that card to pull over him. Then Ford would go on to lecture him about how he shouldn’t be as attached to his Padawan as he was, to which Stan would usually tell Ford to fuck off, and then Ford would start going on about how immature Stan was, so Stan would swear at him more, to which Ford would lecture him more, and do you see where I’m going with this? 

The point was, Ford was an arse, and many people knew this. 

And yet, Stanley wanted nothing more than for that arse to be his brother again. 

Emotions were complicated. Maybe that was why Jedi tried not to deal with them too much. 

He sat in a room on the cruiser that he had claimed as his. It was nothing fancy; it had a bed, a desk, and a small kitchen-like setup, but it got the job done. The desk had enough technology installed so that he could complete his first task of asking for more troops. 

The moment he finishes filing his request, Dan comes in. “Sir, your old apprentice just arrived at the launch bay. Says he wants to see you,” 

Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.

Stanley practically ran towards the launch bay. After the kick in the shins that was Umbara, seeing his old Padawan was just what Stan needed. 

Jesus “Soos” Ramirez was a young, plump, and tall human, who had a knack for mechanics, as well as other standard Jedi things. He was extremely loyal, and had all and all proven to be a wonderful apprentice. 

Training Soos had been the best ten years of his life. The kid was bright, albeit clumsy, and had been enthusiastic and eager to learn. Master Yoda himself had decided that Stan would be a good fit to train Soos, since the two had a matching energy. They had gotten along almost instantly, and despite Stan’s previous reservations (those prior 20 years between meeting Soos and the  _ incident _ that tore him and his brother apart hadn’t been good years), the two had formed a close bond. 

The moment Stan entered the launch bay, and eyed his old Padawan, everything seemed to brighten up for a moment. This was exactly what he needed to turn what was proving to be a bad day into a little bit better day. 

“Soos! You big lug, get over here!” Stan greeted him with open arms. 

“Master Pines!” Soos cheered, running over and accepting the hug graciously. Stan gave him two good thwacks on the back, before parting. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked. 

“I heard you just got back from Umbara, so I decided to go see you,” Soos explains, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I got done with my mission about a week ago, and I’d wanted to tell you about it. But you were still on Umbara, so I decided to just wait until you're done. How’d it go, anyways?” 

Stan frowned. “Not good. We lost a lot of men,” he says honestly. “The entire siege was a suicide mission,” 

“Oh,” Soos hums quietly. “But we did take Umbara, so it was worth it in the end, wasn’t it?” 

Stan looked at his former padawan's honest eyes, his gut churning. Umbara couldn’t have possibly been worth so many lost lives. But he didn’t have to say that to the young kid who had just become a Jedi Knight; who still believed that the Jedi were fighting for peace. He wouldn’t tear the poor kid down. Not yet. 

Soos had years ahead of him to slowly learn the truth. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Stan told him, a false bravado masking his face. Soos had never really been good at seeing through lies, and Stanley had often found himself using this to his advantage. Did he sometimes feel bad about that? Maybe? He could never be sure. Lying was like second nature to him anyways. It’s how he’d kept himself alive when he was finally able to run from the Hutts and the Zygerians during those ten years the Jedi thought he was dead. And a Weequay was supposedly a natural liar anyways, at least according to the pirates on Florum. Then again, they may have just been making excuses for why they invested in piracy instead of some sort of honest job. 

“Anyways,” Stanley shifts the subject, hoping to keep away from the topic of Umbara as a whole. “How did your mission go?” 

Soos had been placed in charge of a group of Padawans to provide aid to the citizens of Ryloth. Since the planet had been liberated from the Separatist, the Republic had been regularly sending aid to the place to make sure it was kept that way. Several Jedi masters had been out aiding with the Umbaran siege, so those Jedi’s padawans, who were usually by their masters side, had been sent along with Soos on the regular Rylothian escapade. 

“Oh, it was pretty boring,” Soos laughed. “Just hadda destroy a few clanker doods. The Twi'leks were pretty nice, and it was fun hanging out with the other Padawans. Though, Ahsoka did complain about not being sent to Umbara with her master,” 

“Ahsoka is Skywalker’s kid, right?” Stanley prided himself on being able to keep track of who's Padawan was who's, though the names did get mixed up from time to time. One look at a kids face, and he’d instantly know which Jedi they belonged to. Names where a whole other matter. When he was younger, he’d been rather good with names. Something he held over his brother’s head the entire time they trained as younglings. Now, his head was too crammed with stuff to keep hold of everyone's titles. The price of growing old, he assumed. To make matters worse, Ford had seemed to have gotten better at remembering names as he grew up. It was almost as if his twin had stolen his talent. 

Whatever. He still had the successful Padawan card to hold over his brother. 

“Yeah, she’s Master Skywalker’s little dood,” Soos responds. “She’s pretty cool. Must be a Togurta thing,” All the Togurta’s he’d met thus far had been pretty cool; From Shaak Ti, whom Soos had taken to referring to as _Clone_ _Mom_ , to Wendy Corduroy, who frequently hung out at the Clone Bar and could out-drink half the boys inside. 

“Oh!” Soos continues, finally getting around to telling Stanley about the thing he had wanted to mention. “I met this girl who helped to run the food bank! She’s this really cool Twi’lek girl named Melody, and we got along really well. I kinda like her,” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stan laughed. “ _ You _ had a successful conversation with a girl?” 

Soos looked hurt for a second, before he realized his old master was teasing him. Despite Jedi teachings and all that, Soos had always felt weirdly warm and fuzzy inside whenever he talked to girls his age. Stan had made sure to tease him about it. Soos also was allowed to tease Stan about things, but he didn’t really do it that often. Only when he had serious ribs he couldn't let go of. 

“Of course I did,” Soos replies confidently. “I am, after all, the galaxy's most perfect man,” 

Stan laughs, clapping Soos on the back. “Haha! Sure,” he replies. “If thinking you’ve somehow out-handsomed  _ this  _ face–,” He gestures to his own mug, which wasn’t exactly the most attractive thing ever, but it wasn’t  _ terrible _ , “– helps you sleep at night, than tell yourself whatever you like,” 

“Anyways,” Soos dragged the conversation back on track. He had  _ really _ wanted to tell Stan about Melody. She had to have been the coolest girl he’d ever met. And he’d met a  _ lot _ of cool girls. “She had been cooking some sorta sausage for the soups, and it tasted really good. She asked me if I wanted to help her pick up supplies from the city so I said, ‘ok dood,’ and then we traveled on a speeder. The trip was pretty long, but she was willing to play eye-spy with me. When I tried to play eye-spy with the other Padawans, they always brushed me off. Then we grabbed the supplies, but on the way back, we had to fight some battle droids, and she punched one right in the face! It hurt her hand more than it hurt the droid, but it was still pretty awesome,” 

“She sounds great,” Stan laughed, smiling at the now-Jedi Knight. His apprentice had grown up from some kid into a real Jedi, but it was nice to see that Soos still held an inner child to him that most kids seemed to lose when they got farther into their training. It was as if they thought being a Jedi meant being  _ serious _ all the time. Frankly, the people like that were just no fun. 

“Yeah, I really like her,” Soos responds, a hint of bubbles in his voice. Stan didn’t even have to use the force (though he could sense it) to tell that his Padawan may have been crushing on the woman he’d told him about. 

“Soos,” Stan said in fake shock. “It sounds like you’re falling in love with her! You  _ know _ that, as a  _ Jedi _ , you’re not to fall in love, or form attachments,” His voice was laced with an unnecessary amount of sarcasm and mockery, as it always was when repeating the Jedi Code bullshit. Frankly, it was a ludicrous rule to enforce on people. Kids would fall in love; it was just something that happened. And who were the Jedi to say you shouldn’t form attachments when they basically gave you an adopted kid to train if you were skilled enough. 

Then again, not all Master’s were kind to their Padawans. Stan knew this better than anyone. 

Soos looks guilty for a second at his master’s “accusation”, then laughs awkwardly. “I guess I’m not a very good Jedi then,” 

Stan throws his arm over his former apprentices shoulder. “Soos, you are a  _ great _ Jedi! The Code is bull, and we both know it. Go ahead and fall in love with girls, it’s natural! The stingy dicks on the High Council won’t hear about it from me,” 

“Won’t hear about  _ what _ from you?” As if on cue, Ford walked into the hanger, eying Stan and Soos with cold eyes. He frowned at Stans arm around his old padawan. He remembered them getting into a discussions about Stan's somewhat unorthodox way of training the kid, with Ford saying “You give him too much affection. He’s your apprentice, not your son,” Stan had gone with his default comeback when dealing with Ford; “fuck off”, but he had kept it in mind. But Padawans were a Jedi’s kid, so Stanley had simply resolved to give Soos even  _ more _ affection (he told himself he was doing this to spite Ford, though that was only a half-truth,). He’d even started telling Soos “dad jokes”, which the boy had loved. (“Master Pines, I’m hungry,” “Hi hungry, I’m Stan,”) 

“Won’t hear that you're a big nerd,” Stan replied, his tone of voice somehow managing to be both a harmless teasing  _ and  _ bitterly spiteful at once. 

Ford gave him a condescending glare. One that read “I’m too mature and better-than-you-ish to even respond to that,” which had always sparked some sort of primal anger in Stan’s bones. The same kind of growing frustration he felt whenever Ford had tried to correct his grammar, even before their falling-out. 

“If your quiet done  _ playing _ with your apprentice,” Ford stated with an eye-roll, “It’s about time we get going. Lieutenant Commander Gleeful has prepared a ship to take us to Kamino,” 

Stan let out a long visible groan. Was it childish? Yes. Was it warranted? Oh, absolutely. 

Bud Gleeful was a rather… annoying member of the Republic military. His goody-two shoes act was obnoxious, he didn’t understand what personal space was, and he was so extremely petty, Stan would’ve admired it if he didn’t despise the man. 

Even worse was Bud Gleeful’s son, who the man  _ insisted _ on bringing to work every day, because apparently he thought his bratty ten-year-old was  _ just _ what the crew needed to cheer them up. 

Stan usually liked kids. He didn’t always  _ seem _ like he liked kids, but he just had some special soft spot for the little gremlins who would inherit the galaxy, with their innocence, determination, and energy. In a galaxy full of evils, kids were the one thing that Stanley could always see as good. 

The little bastard that Gleeful called a child was the exact opposite of all of that. 

Giddion Gleeful could’ve been a Sith Lord, and Stan wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, he suspected that Gideon was the rumored “Lord Sidious” that Kenobi had said Dooku told him about. When he brought up that theory to literally anyone, they would look at him like he was crazy. But Stan  _ knew _ . Giddion was an evil goblin and he was going to prove it one day. 

“Stop acting childish, Stanley,” Ford lectured. 

“ _ Stop acting childish, Stanley _ ,” Stan mocked, using his hand as a pretend mouth. “Of all the people you could’ve gotten to take us to Kamino, it had to be Bud  _ flippin’ _ Gleeful,” 

“Yes it did, because he was the only one available,” Ford refrained from snapping, but it was obvious he was getting annoyed with his brother’s antics. “Now I’d like to get this mission  _ over _ with, so if you wouldn’t mind, let’s get going,” 

Stan glared at his brother for a few seconds. “Fine, but he better not have brought his stupid kid,”

* * *

He brought his stupid kid. 

“Stanley Pines!” The little boy greeted, a malicious smile etched into his face. “It’s been  _ too _ long. I heard about your losses on Umbara. Ever so sorry. It’s too bad you didn’t accept General Windu’s offer. Maybe General Krell could’ve kept more of your troops alive,” 

Every nerve in Stan’s body was pinched. Giddion somehow managed to make the jab look like child-like insensitivity, but Stan knew better. That boy was the spawn of the blackest depths of the dark side, and he  _ knew  _ it.

However, Gideon  _ knew _ that Stan knew. Perhaps that's why the little hell-spawn made it his mission to get on Stan’s nerves. Because Stan saw right through his innocent child act. It must’ve angered the goblin. 

“Child, I will snap you in half and toss you out the airlock!” Stan threatened. Ford gave him a look that read  _ “real mature, Stanley,”  _

“Aw, come on, General Pines,” The kid’s father intervened. “He’s just a little boy, he doesn’t know any better,” 

“Oh, did I hurt your  _ feewings _ ,” The kid gloated, looking utterly satisfied. 

Stan had to refrain from flipping him the bird. He was still a child after all, even if he was evil incarnate. 

“I don’t have feelings,” he said quickly, brushing the child off. That was a lie and everyone knew it, but it shut Giddion up for the moment, so he considered that a win. 

“Can we please get going? Master Shaak Ti requested we go to Kamino a week ago, and I’d like to be at least a little bit timely,” Ford interrupted the bickering. 

“Right away, Jedi Master Pines,” Gleeful chimes in that suck-up manner he always used that made Stanley want to strangle the man. 

The cruiser was started up, orders were given out, and soon, they made the jump to hyperspace, and with that, they were on their way to Kamino.

* * *

The ship they were taking was smaller than a standard cruiser which meant that less people were needed to pilot it. This meant that his meager 20 leftovers felt a little bit less pathetic. It wasn’t anything close to a squad, but in a smaller area, they did seem to fill the room more. 

He would keep his small squad close to him until he could get more members. He had to ensure their survival. 

Besides, he hadn’t had a chance to address his clones yet. 

He looked at the lineup. Dan stood at the front of the line, His helmet off and hanging by his side. He was the only one who looked somewhat prepared for this meeting. Most of the clones were disheveled, with their armor half off. Some of them looked like they just woke up from a nap. Snickers looked high. None of them looked like they wanted to be here at this moment. Stan decided he’d keep his talk brief.

“Listen, I won’t pretend that our victory on Umbara makes up for the amount of soldiers we lost,” Stan started, with a heavy sigh. Nothing could ever be worth how many lives had been taken. It didn’t matter that they were clones; bread to be soldiers, and bread to die on a battlefield. Life was a sacred thing. Those men didn’t deserve to lose it. “I’m not happy. I wish I could’ve kept you alive. And… “ The next words were often the hardest to say for most people, but Stan managed. Quite often actually; it was what he’d been saying to Ford for a long time after  _ that incident _ , before simply giving up entirely. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you lost your brothers. Whether it was because of me, the Umbarans, or this bloody war in general. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” 

“You don’t have to apologize, sir,” Tick said. “This is what we clones are meant to do,” 

“Just because the war created you, doesn’t mean it has to destroy you,” Stan snapped. This  _ couldn’t  _ be all there was to these men’s lives. This  _ wouldn’t _ be. Not if he had anything to say about it. “This war will keep dragging on, and we'll have to continue to fight. Maybe we’ll end it one day. But until then, I’ve got one order for all of you to obey before  _ anything _ else! And by anything, _I. Mean. Anything._ From now until the end, your order is; _Don’t die_!” 

The troops didn’t say anything. They looked a bit confused. Stan rolled his eyes. “Do you understand!?” He barked at them. 

“Sir, yes, sir!” The troupers confirmed. 

“Good! Your dismissed,” 

Everyone left to mill about the ship, though Dan stayed by Stanley’s side. The old Weequay let out a tired sigh the moment his men leave. Maybe he  _ shouldn't _ have gotten so attached to his men. Their loss leaves him feeling hollow and confused. There was probably anger some place down there, and anger lead to hate, and all that shit. 

And he did hate thing; he hated the war, he hated both the Separatist (who started it) and the Republic (who dragged it on). He hated the Chancellor, and the Jedi Order (who eagerly abandoned their position as peacekeepers to join in this unending fight). He hated losing the men who’d quickly become his best friends to a fight he didn’t believe in, and he hated that his brother wouldn’t talk to him about it, or anything. Maybe he’d be taking all of this better if Ford was by his side, but nope, he lost his brother to a 30-year-old grudge. 

Most of all, he just hated himself. Because everything just seemed to go wrong for Stanley Pines, ever since he was twelve and placed under his first Master. 

He couldn’t even fly a ship right, even if it meant saving both his life and the life of Caryn Romanoff. 

_ Screw-up _ . 

“I know you're taking this hard,” Dan sat down next to him. “Don’t. We clones are the toughest men out there! If we die, we die with honor! Men who die with honor don’t need to be mourned,” 

“That’s bullshit,” Stan scoffed. “You can’t just  _ forget _ about the people you lost,” 

“I didn’t say we’d forget them,” Dan corrected. “But my brother’s and I don’t want our General’s getting all mopey and self-blame-y for the ones they couldn't save. We want our General’s to  _ keep fighting _ so that they might save more in the future,” 

Those are words that should help. Stan knew they would eventually. Not now, of course; not when the wound was still fresh, but eventually. 

“I guess it just makes me unhappy,” He hums in contemplation. “You clone’s are all brothers. And I wouldn’t wish the loss of a brother on anyone,” 

He’d already lost Ford, in a way. But despite everything, if Ford were to die, well… 

Stan wasn’t quite sure  _ what _ he would do. 

“Hey, if it makes you feel better,” Dan started, holding a joking tone to his voice. “When you got about a bajillion brothers, you can’t really get all buddy-buddy with all of them. 

This did get Stan to laugh. 

“Now, if it’s ok with you, General, I’m gonna get some food at the mess hall,” Dan told him. “It’s Shaak Jerky today, straight from Naboo!” 

“Alright, go ahead. I’m gonna take a nap,” Stan told him. “Wake me up as soon as we get to Kamino, and save some Jerky for me,”

* * *

As most of his nightmares went, he was reliving a painful memory from the ten year period when the Jedi thought he was dead. This memory was of that time when he tried to help a number of slaves escape Zygeria, only for all of them to be caught. It was a small enough group of people, so the slavers found no harm in executing all of them. Since Stan was their leader (and also “belonged” to an influential Zygerian who didn’t want to let one of his most useful muscle men go yet), he was forced to watch as all his friends were tortured and then killed. 

Except this time, the faces of the group had changed from that of Twi’lek’s to the faces of his dead men. From the people he lost on Umbara to the others killed during missions unrelated. Every death he felt like he caused directly where up there. 

There was Axel, and Beetle. Match and Soggs. Tune-up, Jet-plane, Sixx, Hogwash, Deedee, and many others. The faces kept changing. Sometimes, they’d just take the face of a generic clone, with no distinguishable features to tell him which man it was. But it was all the same. 

He woke up in cold sweat, like he usually did after a nightmare. Jedi weren’t really supposed to get nightmares, or have dreams at all, unless they were seeing a vision of the future. Apparently, Stanley didn’t get the memo. Maybe it was because of what happened with his first master, or maybe it was because he’d never been able to formally complete his Padawan training, due to the death of Master Romanoff and the subsequent ten years he spent being tossed about by the slavery industry. 

Or maybe there was some use to obeying the Jedi code, though he’d rather have the nightmares than go about trying to follow those bullshit rules to a T like Ford did. 

Either way, he just had to live with this. 

Oh well. Nothing he couldn’t handle. 

Stan headed to the shower, and washed the sweat off. He hadn’t had time to shower after reaching the ship from Umbara, so it felt nice to get the grime off. Black dirt and flakes of wood swirled down the drain, along with flakes of dried blood. The blood would’ve been different colors had it not been dried; The blood of a clone was red, the umbarans where an almost fluorescent purple, and his own blood, Weequay blood, was a soft copper color. But all the blood had long since dried into black flakes, and it all looked the same.

_ Ford would’ve probably made a metaphor out of that.  _ Stan laughed to himself. 

He finishes his shower, and puts on a pair of fresh clothes (standard red and black Jedi robes, with some white clone trooper armor placed on top. Nothing special, but they're comfortable, and they got the job done). He has to redo his braids, which he’d taken out to wash the hair. There were so many scraps of fabric and small trinkets from places he’d been that he'd have to weave in. The standard Florum coat cloth, a beaded cord he bought at Coruscant. A hair-clip which contained the beetle-eyed gems sacred to Naboo, a scrap of Clone Armor to represent Kamino. Kasheek and Felicia were marked with vines. And yes, he even added the cloth from Umbara. Every planet he had ever been to was marked in his hair braids. He’d even added a grass blade from Nal Hutta, and a thin gold chain from Zygeria, despite the bad memories associated there. His favorite hair piece the rock he secured in twine, that he’d taken from Illum; the planet he and Ford had found their kyber crystals on. 

He looked at his hair once he was done braiding it, eyeing all the trinkets and clips and pieces of fabric or plant that represented somewhere he’d been. He balked at most people’s traditions, even many Weequay ones, but the braiding was one thing he liked to keep up with. Maybe it was because his brother did it too, and was always so enthusiastic about it. But that was before Stan’s ten year disappearance. 

At least there was  _ one _ thing Ford had stopped doing before their falling out. Stan had a feeling that creepy Zabrak was to blame for that one. 

The final piece of his outfit would be his hat; a crimson Fez with a fish painted onto it in gold. Master Yoda had handed Stan the item when he returned to the Jedi Order after those ten years, saying that his Master had meant to give it to him when he graduated from his status as a Padawan, and had become a Jedi Knight. She never got a chance to give him the item, but it was nice to hold a part of her on his head. 

He wished the two of them had never even stepped foot onto that damned ship. 

The moment he slipped the Fez on, Captain Dan entered the room. 

“We’ll be leaving hyperspace any minute, Sir,”

* * *

Stan entered the bridge of the ship, making an effort to stand as far away from Gleeful and his hell-spawn as possible. This meant standing next to Ford, which wasn't exactly a preferable spot either. His brother had been happily looking at graphs, doing nerd things because he was a giant nerd, but his brother’s choice of spot seemed to displease the old Weequay. Whatever. Ford could be a jerk if he wanted to. Not like Stan cared. 

True to Dan’s words, the ship exited hyperspace, and the dull blue ball that was Kamino could be seen right out the front window. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doha hyl fvb hjjbzpun tl vm, Mpzo Zapjrz? Hjjvykpun av fvby iyvaoly, P kpk uvaopun dyvun! 
> 
> A Zabrak is the same species as Darth Maul, so I decided to make Bill Cipher one of those. It's mostly due to this one conversation in the Rebels that Maul has with the main kid, Ezra, that felt kinda Bill Cipher-ish to me for some reason. I don't know why, the two are barley alike in personality (Bill is eccentric, Maul is subdued), but that's how my Gravity Falls obsessed brain works, apparently. 
> 
> This was my first time writing Giddion, and I gotta say, his little shit personality is kinda fun to work with. 
> 
> Also, Soos! 
> 
> Do I need to say more?
> 
> And, we obviously got some more Pine's twins backstory. Place your theories in the comments! 
> 
> And again, if you've never watched Clone Wars, you most definitely should. It's on Disney+, but if you don't have that, you can probably pirate it pretty easily. I think.
> 
> Next chapter, we'll finally be meeting Dipper and Mabel. That's when the story gets interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clone trooper PT-304, AKA Dipper, and trooper SS-304, or Mabel. A pair of odd clones that spark the curiosity of the Jedi. 
> 
> A pair of twins in need of Jedi training. Almost too perfect for the pair of old Weequay's that currently do not have an apprentice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things of note in this chapter;
> 
> First of all, Mabel is transgender. I decided this because, canonically to Star Wars, the clones are all male, so it'd make little sense for Mabel to be randomly born a female, and I needed the twins to be clones for Plot Reasons™. I am not trans. I have trans friends, but I'm not trans, so forgive me if I get something wrong, and feel free to correct me if needed. I have to idea what it's like to be Trans in the Star Wars universe, but I assume that technology would allow for a pretty quick and easy transition, and I'm pretty sure that most Jedi would say Trans Rights. 
> 
> That being said, Shaak Ti, Stan, Ford, Dipper, Mabel, and every clone in existence all say Trans Rights. I also say Trans Rights. 
> 
> Stan and Ford get into a bit of a fight in this chapter, which wasn't the most pleasant thing to write, but it was necessary. Aside from that, I don't think theres anything else to say.

_ However Parenthood comes to you, it's a _ miracle

* * *

Shaak Ti stared in awe at the clone children inside the room. She had heard the rumors about them, but seeing the two little clones herself was another story. 

The first known case of force-sensitive clones. Well,  _ sensitive  _ was an understatement; the one with the longer hair was straight-up juggling several brightly colored balls without hand, while the other one let a cube-puzzle hover above his hand, the squares twisting and turning by themselves. (He wasn’t really close to  _ solving _ the puzzle, but that's besides the point) 

The two kids hadn’t even had any training, yet they already seemed to have a basic grasp on how to use the force. They were strong with it; it surrounded them in clouds. She could sense it radiating from within the two of them. It was amazing. 

“Impressive, aren't they?” One of the Kaminan doctors spoke, as if bragging about his work. Shaak Ti didn’t take her eyes away from the children, but did pay attention to the doctor's words. “There seems to be a mutation special to those two. They had grown in the same embryo chamber, having been previously conjoined; and the accelerated aging has appeared to be unsuccessful. They age like normal children; not Clones. They are very curious specimens,” 

“Curious indeed,” The Jedi hummed. The one with the birthmark had given up on the cube, and called out to his twin, requesting they play a game of catch. 

She knew their numbers; CT-PT-304, and CT-SS-304. The two of them were one of a kind. 

“Not only that, but PT is sporting a very curious birthmark unseen in any clone before him, and SS is oddly convinced that he is  _ female _ ,” 

That explained why the clone seemed to have a more feminine style, from the way the hair was styled, to the facial decorations. 

“Would being female hinder his ability as a clone?” Shaak Ti asked, almost daring the Kaminan doctor to say no. 

“Not  _ necessarily, _ but—“ she suspected he would say something to do with giving a clone too much individually and hindering their ability to work in a unit, but Shaak Ti didn’t exactly feel like listening to his reasons. The Kaminans, especially the ones who maintained the clone factories, tended to view Clones as property. And while they were created with a purpose (and where never to sway from that purpose, unless special situations allowed), the Togurta didn’t exactly  _ agree _ with these ideals. Clones were living, breathing things. Yes, they’re purpose was to fight, but they still should be given basic human rights. 

Like the right to be the gender you are most comfortable with. 

“Then she is female,” Shaak Ti stated, leaving no room for argument. “I shall discuss with the Jedi council what we will do with these children. Until then, keep them comfortable, and give SS-304 the proper medical treatment needed for smooth male to female transition,”

* * *

The Jedi Council had agreed that Stanford Pines would be the best member of theirs (besides Shaak Ti herself) to send over to observe the two force-sensitive clones. Ford was a good friend of hers; the two had been given seats in the High Council around the same time, with their seats positioned right across from each other. They would often play a blinking game with each other whenever they had gotten bored during meetings. Blink once if Master Yoda made a speech about letting the force guide them, blink twice if Master Piell complained about the budget again; little things like that. They hadn’t seen each other in a while; it would be good to once again meet up with the old Weequay. 

Ford was the High Council’s resident expert on force anomalies. Anything and everything unusual within the force; a deviation from patterns, a particularly large amount of power, or such powers revealing themselves in odd ways. From studying the excessive number of midichlorians in Anakin Skywalker's bloodstream, to the anomaly that was the Wookie youngling, it was always Ford’s responsibility to research. To figure out  _ why _ . The odd batch of clones that was PT-304 and SS-304 laid exactly under Ford’s expertise. 

The two clones would also need training; their force-sensitivity made them likely candidates for Jedi-hood. The kids were 12; too old to start as younglings, so they were in need of a Jedi master. 

Stanley Pines had recently filed for a new Padawan, after his previous one had become a Jedi Knight. 

She didn’t necessarily  _ have _ to invite Stan along to Kamino. If anything, it would’ve made more sense to introduce him to whichever clone would be made his apprentice  _ after _ they had taken the two of them to the Jedi council. 

But there was something about the way Ford would  _ constantly _ argue with his brother that made her want to lock them in the same room together and not let them out until they worked out their problems. 

So she insisted that both Pines twins be brought to Kamino to take a look at these strange clones, wondering whether or not this was a good idea. 

Of course it was a good idea. She was Jedi Master Shaak Ti, a member of the High Jedi Council. All her ideas were good ideas.

* * *

A week after contacting Ford for invitation, the Pines twins finally arrived. 

She stood at the door watching as the two of them stepped out of the ship and into the landing platform, the torrential downpour that was a constant of the watery planet instantly soaking the two old Weequay. Following them was a third man that Shaak Ti didn’t recognize, but could tell by his uniform that he was a member of the Republic Navy; possibly in the higher ranks. The man was walking along with what appeared to be a small child. The Togurta squinted, wondering if she was seeing things right. Why would  _ anyone _ , much less a member of the Republic navy, take some  _ kid _ with him all the way out to Kamino (or anywhere really). Following the four of them, several clones stepped out of the ship. Some of the clones marched with precision. Others ran into the rain, hollering about being home; jumping around and acting childish, though it was kinda cute to see them let loose. She recognized the playful men as members of the 904th; Stanley’s army. 

Shaak Ti didn’t know Ford’s brother all that well; She hadn’t met Ford until the two joined the Jedi Council together, and by that time, the infamous  _ incident _ that had torn the two brother’s apart had already happened. What she did know about her friend's brother was that he was loose and chaotic; both in social aspects, and in his ways of a Jedi. She remembered once listening to Ford as he lectured his twin about forming the attachments that Jedi were not supposed to have. Stanley was infamously close with his padawan, in an almost parent-like way. And the clone’s who had met him always talked about him fondly, as if he were one of their own. As far as she knew, he was one of the few Jedi that actually  _ did _ hang out with the clones as friends. 

Stanford didn’t look pleased that Stan’s men were fooling around. She loved Ford, she really did; He was one of her best friends. But Shaak Ti would be the first person to say that Stanford Pines had placed his head a little too far up his own ass. It wasn’t like she was one to talk; every Jedi on the high council would have to have their heads a little in their asses at certain times; it was a part of the job. But there was stubborn and stiff, and then there was Stanford; The old Weequay wouldn’t budge for anything or anyone; Shaak Ti found joy in playing board games or chatting with Ford, but she didn’t exactly feel like doing a group project with him anytime soon. 

There was a reason he was never put in charge of a clone army, and there was a reason why he hadn’t found a padawan yet. 

Stan watched his men play in the rain with a smile on his face. It was good to see them relaxed and happy. Dan hoisted Friz (the smallest member of the squad) over his shoulder, spinning him around. He skipped near his general, whipping Friz around so close that they nearly hit faces. Stan started laughing. Ford, who was standing right next to him, looked a little less amused. 

Dan slipped in the rain, landing on his but with a thud. He also happened to land in a rather large puddle, causing a splash that landed entirely on Gideon Gleeful (who’d previously avoided getting wet by standing under the umbrella his dad gave him). 

Stan was laughing so hard he could barely move. It was all he could do to keep himself from falling onto the wet landing platform himself. Of course, since he stopped, so did everyone else, much to Ford’s displeasure.

“Stanley,” he said through gritted teeth, “Is it possible for your men to control themselves?” 

Stan finally relented to his winded guffaws, and sat down on the ground, giving Ford his best shit-eating grin. “I dunno. Hey Dan! Is it possible for you to control yourselves?” He asked his captain in an obviously mocking tone. 

“Sorry Sir, no can do!” Dan replied, going back to spinning Friz around in circles. 

“Sorry Sixer, no can do,” Stan reported back to his brother, still feeling smug. 

Ford suddenly glared at his brother, eyes filled with contempt and disgust. “ _ You _ are  _ never _ to call me that!” He spat, his voices laced with enough venom to make Stan flinch. 

Stans smile is suddenly gone, and the hollow feeling returns. He resist the urge to curl in on himself. It was just another bite; it had happened before. Ford could cut deep if he tried to. The hatred in his voice was enough of a knife to leave Stan feeling wounded. He should be used to this by now; many of his arguments with his brother would escalate and turn ugly. But while Stan’s anger was hot and passionate, Ford’s was cold and empty. Stan had a good poker face, but Ford could look like steel, cutting quickly in all the correct places, leaving wounds that never healed properly. Ford could walk off with nothing but superficial scratches, his superiority complex enough of an armor that insults didn’t faze him. But Stanley would be left; standing in the same spot Ford left him in, his anger quickly turning into despair and self-hatred. It was messed up. 

As if he could sense his Generals hurt, Snickers is in front of Ford, swaying slightly. “Hey, why don’ you pick on someone else fo’ a change!” The clone snapped. Stan could feel his smile coming back. His men truly where the best friends he could ask for. 

“Stanley, is this trooper drunk!?” Ford snaps. Snickers was standing close enough for Ford to smell his breath. 

So he was right, Snickers  _ was _ high that moment on the ship. 

Before Stan can deny it, Snickers places a floppy arm over Ford’s shoulder and laughs. “I ain’t drunk! I’m  _ high _ ! There’s a difference, ya ol’ fart,” 

“Unbelievable.” Ford states dryly. “Unbelievable! I am at a loss for words!” 

Stanley knew that, despite Ford’s statement, he was in for an earful. 

“Not only is your squad full of disorganized  _ children _ ,” 

“Don’t you talk shit about my squad!” 

“But one of them is even  _ HIGH  _ ON DUTY!” Fords shouts, shoving Snickers off of him. “Of all the irresponsible things! Do you know how dangerous and  _ unprofessional  _ it is to let your clones be high on a mission?” 

“First off, we weren’t on a mission,” Stan shouts back, finally getting off of the floor. “And second, what my men do in their off time ain’t none of my business,” 

“If a clone is being taken some place to perform a task, or if he is in waiting to be  _ given _ a task, then the clone is  _ on duty!” _ Ford replied, sounding both bitterly aggravated and condescending. “How did he even get his hands on intoxicant’s in the first place? Did  _ you  _ give it to him,” 

“Maybe!?” Stan snapped, throwing his hands up into the air. “I’m not gonna remember that! And it doesn’t matter  _ how  _ he got it anyways. He smoked a few herbs, big deal! It’s didn’t cause a problem, so I don’t see why we’re still yakin’ about it!” 

“Don’t you check their supply bags, or—“ 

“No, I don’t,” Stan interrupted, “because  _ I  _ think that everyone deserves a little  _ privacy _ !” It was a basic creature's right, privacy was. There was no way in hell Stan would go rooting through his clones personal things. They were responsible enough that he could trust them to have the essentials in their bags, and everything else didn’t matter. It was not his business what the clones might’ve had brought along with them. And it was  _ definitely  _ not Ford’s. 

“They are  _ your _ clones, Stanley. You are supposed to make sure that every one of them is behaving as necessary,” Ford replied coldly. "You are supposed to be _in control of them_ ," 

This ticked Stan off. 

“They’re  _ people _ , not  _ property _ , Stanford!” 

“I never said they where!” 

“You didn’t have to!” Stan wouldn’t believe his brothers excuses. Ford had gained a rather callous approach to life; sacrifice the few to save the many, because that was safer and easier than trying to save everyone. Clones were made to be expendable. Ford wouldn’t understand their intricacies; he wouldn’t try to. Stan knew that clones were the least of Ford’s concerns, and that was on a good day. “I’m not gonna _control_ every little aspect of my men’s lives! Sure, maybe Snickers shouldn’t smoke so much, and yes, I do  _ advise _ against it! But if one of my men is having a bad day and wanna take a load off, it’s their choice, not mine!” 

“ _ You _ are their commanding general, Stanley.  _ You _ are responsible for them,” Ford once again tried. 

“Just because I’m  _ responsible _ for them doesn’t mean I’m gonna be some sort of slave driver!” He shouts back. He’s aware that everyone on the landing platform is staring at him and his bickering brother. He doesn’t care. “Yeah, Snickers shouldn’t be high on duty, but it’s not like we’re marching into battle or something. It’s not that big of deal!” 

“It  _ is _ a big deal, because it is unprofessional, irresponsible, and sets a poor example for the rest of your men,” Ford responds, his voice loud and cold, the only emotion behind it being frustration. But who was he to talk? Ford never wanted anything to do with Stanley anyways; he didn’t have a right to lecture him  _ or _ his men. Stan could’ve  _ easily _ talked to Snickers himself; treat the situation in a way that  _ wouldn’t _ trigger a person’s natural stubborn obstinance. The way Ford was handling this wouldn’t help his soldier ease off the drug addiction at all. Even more frustrating was Ford making the claim that a general should have perfect control of their clones; as if the troopers were not their own human beings. 

“My men are their own people!” Stan argued back. 

“They’re supposed to be soldiers, Stanley,” Ford growled. “Maybe if you had some sort of  _ semblance _ of control over your armies, you wouldn’t have lost so many men on Umbara!” 

Now that one hurt. 

“FUCK YOU!!” Stan simply resolves to shouting, as loud as he can. He didn’t doubt that Shaak Ti could hear him from behind the glass where she stood waiting for them. He stomped off towards the indoors, the rain of Kamino suddenly feeling much colder. His men’s playing had stopped; it stopped when he and Ford had began their argument, but the bustling energy that his leftover men had been carrying was now much more subdued. He wanted to shout. He wanted to cry. He wanted to hurl himself off the landing platform and sink to the depths of the flooded planet. 

At least Ford had the decency to look the slightest bit regretful. 

His brother opened his mouth to say something, but obviously decided against it. He resigned to simply following the rest of the men as they entered the hallway, all of them soaked to the bone. 

Shaak Ti stared at all of them, unimpressed. “I’m surprised you two managed to fly here in a ship together without killing each other,” She grolwed, glaring at both Stan and Ford the way a mother would look at her bickering children. In her personal opinion, this was getting ridiculous. The two of them stood out in the rain for a solid ten minutes  _ just _ to yell at eachother. 

“Did you see how his men were behaving!?” Ford immediately started complaining.  _ Here we go again _ . She thinks. “One of them is even  _ intoxicated _ on duty! I can’t believe he allows for that!” 

“You can’t believe that I let my men make their own decisions?” Stan snapped. 

“I can’t believe the irresponsibility—” Ford tried to dig into it, only to be cut off. 

“Could you two save your bickering for later?” Shaak Ti snaps at them. She lets out a sigh, rubbing her temples, nursing the oncoming headache that was already growing. Maybe this was a bad idea… “I have a matter to discuss with the both of you. We have better things to do at the moment than to stand here and let you two continue your nonsense. Pines, come with me, everyone else is dismissed until further notice,” 

The two brother’s glared at each other the entire walk to the room they were keeping the odd batch of clones in. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

“How about Star? You really like stars, after all,” Dipper suggested to his twin. 

The hormonal treatment Shaak Ti had prescribed to SS-304 had worked miracles. Her voice was already higher, and her face looked a tad bit more feminine, though she still looked like the male cadets, much to her dismay. But the treatment was working; soon she would have a girls body. It was exciting. The other clones; her brothers, had made it clear to all those around her that they’d face the wrath of an army if anyone purposely misgendered her, with Dipper at the forefront. 

She had poured over a book of female names; trying to find one that suited her, before eventually tossing the book aside, and leaving it up to her brother’s to give her a nickname; as per clone tradition. Dipper’s nickname was easy; he had a birthmark that was the shape of the star cluster known as the big dipper, so his brothers and sister stuck to calling him as such. 

SS simply didn’t have a nickname yet. Nothing the other clones suggested seemed to stick. 

“Star, Star, Star…” She tried, getting a feeling for it. “Nah, it doesn’t feel quite like me. I need something sparkly, like glitter,” 

“Why don’t you just call yourself Glitter than,” Dipper throws out, picking up his color-cube and messing with it. 

“Because that’s lame!” His sister complains. “But speaking of glitter, I think I’m gonna use some now,” 

SS had gotten very much into arts and crafts, with glitter being her particular favorite craft supplies to dabble in. “They’re like colorful stars you can touch and mold to your own liking!” She had explained. 

“The glitter’s on the top shelf. Dr. Nala Se decided to keep it out of our reach after the last incident, remember?” Dipper informed her. His sister, unfortunately, didn’t look deterred. 

“Too bad for her!” She announced proudly. “I can grab that glitter with my FORCE POWERS!” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s counts as an abuse of powers, sis,” 

“Nonsense,” His sister replies enthusiastically. “What better way to use the force than to beckon a jar of glitter into your very hands!” 

Dipper just let out an exasperated sigh, watching his sister do her thing. 

The two of them had been called “the Odd Batch” by their fellow clones. They grew in the same tube (in fact, the two had been conjoined in the abdominal region, but a quick surgery in their infancy was enough to split their bodies apart), and the accelerated growth had failed them, leaving them to look like twelve year olds at age twelve, instead of twenty-two year olds like their brothers. Then there was Dipper’s birthmark; something unique to him, not supported by any of his brothers. And of course, SS-304 was the only clone of knowledge who was transgender. Added to all of that weirdness, the two of them were also force-sensitive. And, according to Shaak Ti, quite strong with it as well. 

Dipper had a talent that was even rare by force-wielder standards. He could touch an object, and feel it’s “memories”. He knew that his colored cube used to belong to Nala Se, and that she had plaid with it when she was younger as means to help her spatial-reasoning skills, and to calm down when her natural genius began to overfill her cluttered head. He could sense how many battles and what planets his brother’s had been through by touching their helmet, and he knew the name and date of their assigned medical droid before it even told him. Not only was he special by clone trooper standards, what with being force-sensitive and all, but he was special by Jedi standards too. 

His sister had the same case. While Dipper could read objects, SS could read people. She had scared Nala Se with a complete psycho-analysis after moments of being around the Kaminan doctor. She had pointed out one of the clone cadets they knew and said he was out of place; and lo and behold, that very cadet turned out to be Boba Fett. She knew everyone’s emotions without even trying. There was no hiding from her. If you were sad, she would know. If you were angry she would know. She would even be able to figure out  _ why _ sometimes. They first took notice of her talent when she was able to figure out the physiological root of one of her many brother’s problems that nobody else had been able to pinpoint. She knew exactly what had hurt him, and how that affected him. 

She even knew who to trust and who not to trust by standing in their presence. She said that there was something off about Nala Se, and many other Kaminan citizens working the cloning facility. She had been disgusted by the presence of General Krell, and it turned out he was not only a clone killer but a traitor too. 

Dipper trusted his sister’s instincts more than anything. 

But she’s focused on carefully lifting the glass jar of glitter off the top shelf, and floating it over to her hands. So focused it seemed she didn’t sense the nearing presence of Shaak Ti and Nala Se, as well as two other Jedi, even though they were right outside the window. 

When the four people enter the room, it spooks the girl so badly she drops the glitter jar, breaking the glass apart, letting the flecks waft everywhere. 

“Not again,” Nala Se moaned. 

The other Jedi; two Weequay who were identical in face, observed the mess with various expressions. One seemed impressed, the other had excitement about him. SS instantly got a grasp of their emotions; there was tension and anger, sadness and stubbornness, and a strange kind of love that either twisted or in denial. And that was only between each other. 

They’re twins, she knows this instantly. Twins just like her and Dipper. But there’s a whirlwind of complicated emotions between the two of them, so large and chaotic that it overwhelmed everything else in the room. She can barely sense Nala Se’s annoyance that she had gotten into the glitter again, and Shaak Ti’s usual prideful energy that drips from her whenever she looks at a clone is completely masked. It’s like whatever was happening between the brothers was some dark cloud of complications that not even the force could make sense of. 

“Sweet Sally,” whispers to herself. 

Despite the cloud surrounding them, the Weequay are both smiling at them. 

“Man,” one of them says; the one with the crimson fez and a  _ lot _ of self-esteem issues. “I haven’t seen that much sparkly stuff since I had to climb those giant Mabel Tree’s on Crait; took forever to get all that colored sand off me,” 

“THAT’S IT!!” The young clone girl suddenly shouts. “MABEL!! THAT’S MY PERFECT NICKNAME!!” 

Clone trooper SS-304; the newly named Mabel, stood proud, draping an arm around her twin. “Your Dipper, and I’m Mabel! Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?” 

Dipper contemplated the name for a second. The Mabel Tree’s where one of the few plants to grow on the salt topped planet of Crait, which was well known for spewing out tiny crystals of multiple colors. The trees were sparkly, stubbornly growing on a planet that did it’s best to support as little life as possible, and they threw up glitter. 

He couldn’t have found a more perfect nickname for his sister if he tried. 

“Yep, Mabel it is!” 

The second Weequay, who’d been staring at the two of them with his mouth agape, finally managed to say something. 

“Force-sensitive clones!?” He managed to force out, absolutely amazed. He turned towards Shaak Ti, eyes wide, as if asking her to wake him up from a dream. She only nodded in confirmation. 

His two owl-like eyes turned to them. “Amazing! I have never seen anything like this!” He rushed over to the two kids, and began poking and prodding at them. Dipper looked over to his sister, wondering if he should allow this. 

“They’re trustworthy,” Mabel assured him, so he tolerated this strange man’s invasive curiosity. 

“What a peculiar birthmark! I’ve never seen such patterns in any clone before,” He observed out loud, brushing back dippers bangs to see the pink patterns in his skin. He quickly turned to Mabel. “And you! Shaak Ti had informed me that you are in the middle of a male to female transition. I wonder, is it a mutation, or something else entirely that makes you wish to be a girl?” 

“Umm…” Mabel looked slightly uncomfortable with this statement. 

Dipper glared at the man. “She  _ is _ a girl,” He snapped. 

“Oh, my apologies!” the Weequay backed off. “I’m simply making observations. I didn’t intend to misgender. I understand that these things can be hard, especially at the beginning. I do have extensive medical knowledge, so I  _ can _ provide assistance if needed,” 

“How about you leave her medical affairs to the Kaminans,” Shaak Ti spoke up. 

“Oh, well, yes, but—” 

“I’ll have you know that we are handling her transition  _ just fine _ ,” Nala Se spat at him through gritted teeth. The Kaminan scientist absolutely  _ loathed _ it when the Jedi interfered with her work. She was already annoyed enough that Shaak Ti was constantly breathing down her neck, she didn’t need  _ this _ Jedi added to her headaches. 

“I’m sure you are, but if—” 

“Children, this is Jedi Master Stanford Pines,” Shaak Ti interrupted before Ford could possibly go on a tirade of all the things the Kaminan’s could possibly do better. The one’s she knew had the unofficial motto of “don’t tell me how to do my job”; a motto that Ford seemed to lack respect for. “He’s a good friend of mine, and an expert on unusual patterns within the force

“Nice to meet you, Master Pines,” Mabel said with a bright smile. 

“Please, call me Ford,” He insisted. “You two are quite the anomalies. Your gene donor, Jengo Fett, was barely even connected to the force, yet you two seem rather strong with it. May I take a blood sample? I’d love to count your midichlorians,”

“I can probably ask one of the droids for the information,” Dipper replied. 

“No need, I’d rather test the blood myself,” Ford rebukes. 

“Who’s your twin?” Mabel suddenly asked.

Ford’s face expression immediately turns cold, and the twisted cloud of emotion flares up in Mabel's senses, once again. There is an ugly denial coming from him, which stems from multiple places. He’d been hurt; not by his brother, but he believed it was his brother who hurt him. 

The brother, on the other hand, has a sadness pouring through him, but he’s burying it down in his gut. “Name’s Stanley,” he told her, giving the girl a wave. “And your names are Dipper and Mabel, right?” He had to make sure he was correct. 

“That’s what we’re calling ourselves!” Mabel claimed confidently. 

She was a bright little ball of sunshine, and he liked her already. 

“Well, their numbers are—” Nala Se attempted to speak, but Stan cut her off. 

“I don’t give a damn ‘bout their  _ numbers _ ,” He didn’t try to hide his dislike of the word. “I wanted their names,” 

Both Dipper and Mabel seemed to brighten up at his statement. 

“I got my name from the birthmark, obviously,” Dipper explained. “And you know how Mabel got hers. Which, uh, thanks by the way, for inspiring her; we were getting pretty sick of only having a number to refer to her by,” 

“Hey, your names are important. I work with your brother’s all the time. Gotta be the best friends I’ve ever had,” 

Dipper laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we’re pretty great aren't we,” 

Dipper was more subdued than his sister, but he held a charm of his own. Stanley can sense this boy’s determination, and his loyalty to his sister. It reminds him of his young self. 

Stan likes both these kids. He likes them a lot. He wasn’t gonna let them know that, but—

“Aw, Dipper, he likes us!” Mabel squealed. 

Too late. 

“Um, no I don't ,” He tried to deny her. He was an expert at hiding his emotions, even from fellow force wielders. How could she have known?

“Don’t bother,” Dipper laughed. “My sister can sense even the smallest of emotions from miles away. It’s her talent,” 

“Fascinating,” Ford whispers from the background. “Can both of you do this, or is it just her?” 

“Just me,” Mabel claims. “But, my bro-bro can do something even I can’t do!” She elbowed her brother playfully, prompting him to tell them. 

“I can sense the, uh, memories? I guess? Of certain objects. I can touch something and know it’s history and what’s happened to it,” Dipper explains, pride growing inside of him as he explains. “One of my bro’s lent me his helmet, and I was able to tell the exact locations of everywhere he’s ever been just by touching it!” 

“It’s pretty amazing,” Mabel continued. “Master Shaak Ti says that only a few Jedi have the talents we do so I can only assume we’re pretty special,” 

“We’re the first force-sensitive clones in history!” Dipper reminded her, looking enthusiastic. “Of course we’re special. I’d love to study myself,” 

“You're such a nerd,” Mabel laughed, poking her brother in the face, who promptly started poking him back. 

Ford raised an eyebrow at the two of them, an unreadable look on his face. 

Stan, meanwhile, felt the bittersweet burn of nostalgia. These kids were obviously each other's best friends, as twins ought to be. Mabel was the energetic one; the free spirit; the personality, and Dipper was the rock; the protector, the support. A dynamic that worked so well, he wanted to cry tears of joy just watching them. 

They were the better version of him and his brother. And he felt an instant urge to protect them from the horrors the world had to offer. It’s similar to how he felt when Soos was assigned under his apprenticeship. Protectiveness, caring, and an almost parental instinct. 

“So, is there a reason I’m meeting these two gremlins?” He asked casually, trying to ignore his urge to pat their heads. Yes these children were adorable, but they weren’t  _ his _ —

“The council has agreed to train these children into Jedi knights, so they are in need of a master,” Shaak Ti explained. “As you have recently filed a request for a new apprentice, and with your previous one having graduated, I thought you might be interested in training one of these children,”

Scratch that, they  _ were  _ his kids!

“I’ll train ‘em both!” He declared with a smile, giving into his urges and patting the two kids on the head. The two kids looked excited; a mix between the confirmation in their training as Jedi, and the excitement any Padawan felt when meeting their master for the first time. Stan had remembered that excitement. He had been bouncing off the walls when Ford met Jheselbraum, while he himself was ecstatic to meet his own master. 

His first master beat the excitement out of him pretty quickly, but that was another story. 

“Mark my words, you two are gonna be the  _ best _ Jedi the world has ever seen!” He enthusiastically promises these twins. 

“Actually, Stanley—” Shaak Ti tried to speak up, but Stan kept on going. 

“We’re gonna travel to all  _ kinds _ of places! Plenty of hands-on experience. You two are gonna be slaying battle droids with your own lightsabers! You're gonna go to every cool planet there is. You two ever been to Scarif? No? You’ll love it! It’s got these really pretty beaches and tropics islands, and the water is the perfect temperature. Got plenty of interesting native life, and it’s currently occupied by the republic, so danger should be at a minimum. Frankly it’s just a fun place to go,” 

“STANLEY!” Shaak Ti interrupted him. “I apologize if this wasn’t clear, but you may only train  _ one _ of them,” 

“But they’re twins,” Stan protested. “Shouldn’t they train together?” If only he and Ford had been allowed to train under the same master, maybe they’d still be close. 

“The Jedi code forbids the training of multiple apprentices at once,” She explained. 

“The code’s a load of bull and you know it!” Stan argued back. “I like  _ both _ of these kids. Whadda ya want me to do, pick a favorite or something?!” 

How could he expect to just  _ choose _ between siblings. How could he be expected to throw one of the twins to the wolves? What kind of Master would they get? He’d treat them well; he knew he would, but what if the one he didn’t choose ended up with someone like his first Master. That would damage them. He didn’t want them to be damaged. And he didn’t want them to be split apart either. Could he trust the other person to freely partner up with him so that the twins could spend time together. 

“I understand your feelings,” Shaak Ti tries to calm him down. Ford looks as if he’s about to snap at his brother again, and she wants to avoid that. “But there isn’t any way around that. You cannot have  _ two _ padawans,” 

“And why’s that? I can handle two little gremlins,” 

“The Jedi code—” 

“Is stupid,” 

“Well, yes, sometimes it is, but in this case…” 

“We’ll be fine, Master Stanley,” Mabel spoke up. “We knew we’d have to have separate masters from the beginning,” 

“We’ve already got a plan to keep in touch,” Dipper explains. “Plus, we can sense each other from even halfway across the planet! We’ll be fine,” 

Mabel nods in agreement. “No matter what happens, he’s still my brother,” 

“And she’s still my sister,” Dipper adds. “We’re in this together,” 

“Nothing can ever beat the likes of Dipper and Mabel!” She cheers enthusiastically, standing up on the table the two of them had been sitting on and pumping her fist. 

“Ok, Mabel sit down” Dipper commanded with an eye roll and an enduring smile. 

“But you two are both great kids,” Stan mumbles. How the hell had wormed their way into his heart already? It had taken him a solid week to warm up to Soos (mostly due to denial and a vigorous fear that he wasn’t good enough to train a padawan but that was another story). He’d known these kids for minutes and they had already melted every cold part of his soul. 

Yeash, old age was making him soft, wasn’t it? 

“How the hell am I supposed to choose between the two of you?” 

The kids looked a little disappointed, realizing that yes; Stan would, essentially, have to pick a favorite. They both found they liked him; he was a weird old man, but he had these Grandpa like vibes to him. No kid wouldn’t enjoy that. 

“You could flip a coin?” Mabel offers. 

“Or you can see which one of us fits your personality best,” Dipper, ever the analytical one, counter offers. “For example, Mabel, in her spare time, loves doing arts and crafts, as well as dancing, and a bunch of other girly stuff. I like reading, solving puzzles, and playing this really neat game called  _ Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons _ , so—” 

“You mean that nerd game?” Mabel asked incredulously. 

“It’s not a ‘nerd game’, I got Tech to play it with me thousands of times,” 

“You do know that Tech is a giant nerd,” 

“Cody also plays it,” 

“He played it because you wouldn’t stop begging him,” 

“He nearly invited General Kenobi,” 

“Who abandoned Cody to the nerd game,” 

The twins continued their light bickering. 

Meanwhile, Ford was once again staring at the two of them with owl-ish eyes, like he had when he first met these force-sensitive clones, but there was an entire different emotion to his look now then it was then. “He’s the one,” Ford whispers to himself, though it's loud enough for them to hear it. 

Stan takes another look at Ford, and finds that he’s staring directly at Dipper. 

“What did you say?” Shaak Ti asks the Weequay. 

Ford says nothing, choosing to approach the twins instead. It seemed as if nothing else existed in the world for him at that moment. He looks Dipper right in the eyes. 

“Dipper, it would be my honor, if I could take you on as my Padawan,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oxltkmv lg roln lznwl, Sykokafz Skwr rfv Iiea Tiww
> 
> I've got several tabs about Star Wars lore up on my laptop rn. Like a dork. 
> 
> But yes, we have finally met the Pines twins. I love writing those two. Especially Mabel; she's totally my spirit animal. 
> 
> And also, Stanley giving Love and Care to the twins will forever be the most wholesome thing ever. 
> 
> I'm not sure how accurately I wrote Shaak Ti, since we don't see her to often it's hard to get a gage on her personality, but I figured I'd start with "Clone Mom" and take it from there. And the friendship between her and Ford was a spur of the moment idea that I decided was pretty fitting. 
> 
> Until next chapter!


End file.
